MASHONALAND 37 



which is named Tete, we looked back over the 

 noble Luenya, the tumbling Mazoe and the 

 distant hills of Molimbwe with genuine sighs of 

 regret. 



One glorious morning in June of 1909 every- 

 thing was at last ready for a start. We had 

 arrived in Salisbury with two Portuguese 

 " boys," two pointers, a greyhound, rifles, ammu- 

 nition, ropes, a small tent, boxes of provisions, 

 blankets, and sundry other impedimenta. At 

 first we were mistaken for a circus — not altogether 

 an unreasonable assumption. 



On that morning when we commenced pack- 

 ing, a small crowd assembled in one of the side 

 streets off Manica Road to witness our departure. 

 They were rewarded by seeing Molo bolt with 

 her pack, which had been tied on to the wooden 

 slats of her saddle by an amazing number of 

 ropes and knots and straps and girths. Her 

 fastenings would well-nigh have broken the heart 

 of Prometheus, but, despite them all, she dashed 

 off into the street. My valued Westley-Richards 

 12-bore, in its new case, slipped down between 

 her legs. A load of provisions twisted around, 

 and a roll of blankets draped her in terror. She 

 turned a complete somersault, and I felt sure she 

 had broken her neck. A group of small boys 

 laughed. We rescued Molo from the treasured 

 debris and tried again. Dodo next endeavoured 

 to end her asinine life by doing likewise with 

 her loads, and then Clo Clo, despite such per- 

 suasive things as sjamboks and ropes, refused to 

 budge. Truly our peregrinations were starting 

 under an unpromising augury ! Eventually we 

 persuaded the three animals to move slowly 

 along. Tom and Sam, the two natives, also 

 carried loads, and as we were short-handed, L. 



